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(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 61 - Hanging Out on the Porch

Short Summary: Glorfindel, Amano, Erutirn, Silvarion and Morrandir.
Date (real-life): 2001-01-24
Scene Location: Rivendell
 Middle-earth time is:
Mid Morning on Mersday, Day 23 of May.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 22:13:57 MST on Wed Jan 24 2001.

Front Porch
The porch runs the whole breadth of the house and is a good 20 feet wide. Graceful white marble columns support the roof. The floor of the porch is built from large slabs of the same marble, while the walls of the house itself are of more ordinary granite. An intricately forged railing about three feet high runs between the columns, except where a broad stair leads down to the front yard. A few chairs and benches are scattered about, though they have no cushions. The light from the hearth in the Hall of Fire plays on the windows from within. The gentle breezes of spring drift down the porch, bringing with them the scent of the meadows and forests. The great double doors of the house stand open, and from within can be heard the strains of song, or the music of elven voices speaking.
Obvious exits:
Yard leads to Front Yard.
House leads to Entrance Hall, West.

Glorfindel sits quietly in the corner of the porch, gazing into the star swept pre-dawn. He seems to be talking, or, perhaps, singing quietly to himself, though if it is a song, it is not the fay lyrics of the house, but some deeper thing, a dirge perhaps.

As the first-born sings, two figures come up the steps out of the gloom. As they come into the light it becomes clear that they are not of the elves, but men of the south, Gondorians. Garbed in black and white, they are from Dol Amroth, one a Knight, the other a squire. It is the squire who speaks first, a young, grim man with only one eye, "So do you think they will have people here who can make that beautiful pelt into a cloak? I can't wait to wear it. I swear, I shall be the envy of all the men in the Order..."

At one with the skies above, Glorfindel yet sings, the sadness of his song evident even to those who might not make the words. The words slowly fade into the morning, and he speaks low, addressing no one present, yet speaking with quiet conviction.

"So highly you speak of the fur of a dead wolf. I think, Morrandir, that your cloak will be no more the envy of amoung our Order than will be my beard when we return." The man who speaks second, a white garbed knight. He is not grim at the moment, though his leg shows the scars of battle with its wooden brace. "Though it is custom amoung the men of my blood to sport such... the blood that runs through most of the knights, while they are of higher stock than I... they can not sport a beard so grand as can I." He grins slightly, with some laughter. He then sees the elf, "What is so sad, that your words convey their sadness without hearing their meaning?"

"Even the younger once, know the sadness, I perceive," answers Glorfindel, who then continues, "Beginnings and endings, friends, have their sadness. Bright Ithil, half showing his face, sparked a memory, and the song seemed a way to mark the moment."

"Indeed, some of them can not even grow a beard such as this." Morrandir points to the few whiskers upon his chin and upper lip. He then looks upon the first-born and bows, looking side-long at Eutirn as if expecting him to do the same.

Footfalls from the wide yard presage the arrival of another, raven-haired as most of these Men, new-arrived in the Valley; indeed, upon Amano the wear of travel is yet clearly marked, in the unguarded weariness on his brow, in his slightly wrinkled tunic of azure, even in his halting step. But at the very least the dust upon his garb seems shaken off, and his glance is bright and keen, surveying all about him with silent interest.

Drawing near to where his companions stand holding converse with one of the folk of Elrond, his expression alters quickly to one glad, though even swifter is the sudden veil of clouds cast over the morning skies. The Isilrim frowns slightly as the Valley is shadowed, and the Moon half-hidden; yet his salutation is courteous as ever.

"Well met, Firstborn," he utters quietly, bowing, even as Morrandir gives his own, tilting his head in a nod of greeting to his fellows.

Glorfindel smiles, by way of answer, then says, "Greetings, friend. I pray the hospitality of the house suits you all?" He rises, looking into the yard, cocking his head, then turning back to the guests.

"And so it is, memories are all that we have to remind of us of what has been. Even I have many memories..." Erutirn says, "You have far more wisdom than I... I should not have questioned your song." He then draws his staff in, bowing over it. "I hope you will forgive my harsh ways, I have been a man who has recieved most of his knowledge of the world outside his home in battle. I hope I have no need for my ways for many days travels from your land. Your hospitality, is unmatched anywhere I have yet seen."

"Pray, no apologies are needed, for each has in own history," answers Glorfindel again, pausing, then saying, "Short though some may be, no less full of lessons are these histories. Some of many years, learn but a few things well. Others, short in years some may be, though long in living they are."

The squire nods, "That is true, upon this quest we have learned more in these months than many in Gondor will learn in a lifetime. Some went away squires and shall return as Knights." He smiles at Erutirn and Amano.

Stepping out of the house, a teacup and saucer in hand, Silvarion glances over at the folk on the porch, giving them a nod and a quiet, " Glorfindel, gentlemen," before he continues over to the railing. There he stands, looking out at the morning, though after a few moments he casts more than one curious glance at the men who, upon reflection, do not perhaps look so exactly like the Dunedain after all.

Glorfindel nods, perhaps thoughtful yet, but his words are unspoken regarding his thoughts. He instead asks, "I have come from far afield, away north and east, in the lee of the mountains, have only returned this day to this fair house. Have you found all you sought amongst these trees within the valley?"

"Some may not get to return at all, Morrandir. You perform any more stunts, you may well attain knight hood post-humanously. Though, I should not speak of such things." Erutirn stands, he glances towards Silvarion. "However, I myself have at times been taken to doing things I would regret later. Have any told you how I almost lost my leg, Morrandir? Greetings." The last word is directed towards the new comer, though he quickly turns back towards Morrandir.

"We seek the wisdom of the Lord of Rivendell, as perhaps others have done before us...yet before aught else," Amano's voice, a stark contrast to the clear tones of the Eldar, slips in after a pause, the tall youth smiling at the greeting of the elf that had stepped forth from the House.

"It would be amiss of us not to introduce ourselves after the fashion we are accustomed to." With that, he bows his head once more.

"I am Amano son of Aglahad, and my companions.." He turns now to Morrandir and Erutirn.

A soft chuckle comes from the golden's elf's lips, and he says, "You seek me? For some call me The Lord of Rivendell for Elrond, Master of the House, will not suffer such titles in these times." His smile, disarming, make it hard to determine if he puts for a jest or a serous question.

"Of course, pardon me." Morrandir also bows.

"I am Morrandir son of Barrandil, Blue-Squire of Dol Amroth."

"Amano means, of course, that we seek Elrond. Such was the council of the Steward of Gondor in our homeland and hence we have come." Erutirn says, "However, I am sure that Indilzar or Thorondur will be more than happy to repeat similar words to all who will listen." He shifts his feet a slight bit, "I am Erutirn Calgar. Recently knighted to the Order of the Swan of Amroth by the sea."

Listening to the men speak and introduce themselves, and the tongue in which they do it in, Silvarion remains by the rail, thoughtful, for a few minutes longer. Then he turns toward them and adds his voice to the melange. "Even those who do not call Glorfindel their Lord still do well to pay him his due; he is the Leader of the Host of Imladris, and has acted as the right hand of Master Elrond for most of the last few thousand years. Still, Glorfindel, you should have told me we have visitors... Guests, from so far away." This last is added chidingly, but a smile soon follows it, along with an introduction. "I am called Silvarion."

Glorfindel smiles, "Good Silvarion, indeed my footfalls only recently crossed this porch and I have yet to even set foot in the house, for fair Ithil spoke to me, and I thus felt compelled to bespeak him, and echo his sad lament. I thought perhaps a waking dream found are guests upon the porch, yet they are indeed of bone and sinew."

Silvarion simply nods, giving the other Noldo a curious look, and takes a sip from his tea.

" Your guess, my friend, is truth, for I know not." answers Glorfindel with a wry smile.

"Your pardon then, lord, in calling the Master of this house such," Amano says to Glorfindel, a rueful smile quirking at his lips. "Well met, as well, Silvarion; and though we are here for but a short span of your time, it might be that we would learn of this fair valley what we may."

Glancing towards Glorfindel Erutirn slightly bows, again. "I did not know you were such a great lord amoung your people. Though, I know not much of this land nor of other elven realms." He turns towards his fellow gondorians, "Perhaps you two have more to add? I seem to be failing to know what I am talking about, I hope you two know more of the elves than I."

Morrandir watches the two elves converse for a moment, before asking, "Pardon me Sirs, but are there any among you who are skilled tailors? I have a wolf-skin I aquired on our journey through the mountains which I would like to have made into a cloak, and I don't think I can wait until we return to fair Belfalas. I have money, and can pay whoever is willing to make it."

Glorfindel's lips for a thin line, but he speaks not, but to say that perhaps one less wold is a boon.

Frowning a little, Silvarion answers Morrandir's question. "If you would like it made into a cloak, I know where you can go to speak to some leatherworkers; they would be able to tan and soften the hide... And tailors, too, afterwards. But why would you wear the skin of a wolf? Fell creatures they be, though less than of old. Only once was a wolfskin ever worn to good end, and some would say that was the greatest tragedy to ever be."

Morrandir is taken aback slightly by the cold reaction of the two elves, and nods, "Yes I have heard that tale. Certainly a tragedy among your kind, though perhaps not among mine... Though the skin is significant to me. My father's surname is Nimdraug, which of course is white wolf in your tongue. I never used the name until I came upon the creature. A white wolf, missing an eye like myself. I felled the beast, and took it's skin. A remarkable coincidence in my opinion, though my comrades beg to differ."

"The poor squire, fair elves, has spent to much time away from home. He thinks that he will somehow honour his father by wearing the skin of a felled beast. Of course, I do not believe it is disallowed to stop him. Thorondur has that power, being the knight who is training Morrandir, but unless he recieves that disapproval it is allowed." Erutirn says, watching Morrandir's reaction. He raises a hand, placing it upon Morrandir's shoulder. "Fear not, though, for Thorondur will most likely not give his disapproval. Though he is likely to find it as strange as the rest of us."

The tall raven-haired knight glances to Morrandir, and when he speaks, it is in a tone somewhat wry, "Surely it would not do the pelt harm to wait one more day? There is no want for warmth, or comfort, with the hospitality of the House of Elrond extended to us; and though I gather it may be more for that coincidence that you wish to wear the cloak, to signify that name.."

He too, seems to have noted the expression in the faces of the elves before him, and finishes, quickly, "There are yet many things to be done ere the smaller tasks are to be attended to. I am sure you can have it done ere we depart."

"I assume," says Silvarion, "That you have not yet met with Master Elrond? At least, when I left him, he made no mention of it... Have you been given chambers yet, and had your fill in the Dining Hall? What a poor, poor bunch of hosts we are if not. And no doubt you'll want to meet with the Dunedain, and renew old ties that have been severed a millenium."

Glorfindel absorbs what is said silently, then nods to Silvarion, "Indeed, let us show the courtesy of this house. I myself must depart, for I seek the brethren to give tidings, but I am sure we shall meet again, men of the south.

"It will be good to meet our brothers of the north, I have not yet met one of their number." Morrandir nods to Glorfindel, "Fare thee well, and thankyou for your hospitality."

Glorfindel bows his head, and takes his leave.

"I concur, we should go soon to seek out some of the northern Dunedain." Erutirn grins as he speaks, "It would be good to concur with them. Perhaps I can find that Loremistress again, ask her about that Rhuarc's poem... it was extravagent enough that if it was true she would surely know."

Amano's smile returns, at this mention of their kin, though a thoughtful shadow is retained in his eyes at the words of Erutirn. "The hospitality of this house," he addresses Silvarion gravely, though the light of his gaze is still far from heavy, "is truly welcome to the weary. I have but wandered the halls in one passing, and already the laughter and music.." He shakes his head, denoting that he was unused to the light and mirth that seemed ever-present in any elf-home. "A light meal I have taken, and it has sufficed; but I would be content even without."

He adds, after a pause, "I too, would wish to speak to our kin long-sundered, and learn from them what we can."

"Of whom do you speak," asks Silvarion curiously. "Varinya, perhaps? You're likely to find her in the libraries, as anywhere else... But I will see if I can get word to her that you seek her. And if you have questions, please, feel free to ask them of any of us; I make no claim to Loremaster, but I am one of the Counsellors of Master Elrond, and would be as glad to assist you as young Varinya."

Draining the last of his tea, however, Silvarion continues, "My wife, however, will be wondering what has become of me! I should be returning to my chambers... But I would like to see you all again soon. I am quite curious as to what has brought you so far north... And to the Last Homely House."

Morrandir bows to the departing elf, and then looks to his comrades. "I hope this place can dispell my longing for the halls of Amon Thranduil. I thoroughly enjoyed our stay there, and at Celebannon. But from what I have heard I am sure it will."

"Our thanks cannot wholly repay your courtesy," smiles Amano, inclining his head in quiet farewell. "I am sure of our purpose, and much else, we shall speak of, ere long! May what day remains be restful, and perhaps our paths will cross again before evening. But for now, I too will depart, and head to these libraries of which you speak. Let me not keep you, though perhaps I might inquire where they are before I set out?"

"Our thanks cannot wholly repay your courtesy," smiles Amano, inclining his head in quiet farewell. "I am sure of our purpose, and much else, we shall speak of, ere long! May what day remains be restful, and perhaps our paths will cross again before evening. But for now, I too will depart, and head to these libraries of which you speak. Let me not keep you, though perhaps I might inquire where they are before I set out?"

"I hope she does not yell at you for leaving her so... Silvarion, was it?" Then Erutirn begins to walk towards the door, himself. "Though, I think I will try to find some of the rangers... I wish to hear of the north." He motions on Amano and Morrandir, "Come now, let's go find our northern brethren... see if they find us as strange as all the others we have met thus far."

Silvarion nods once to the man, and answers, "Surely. Enter the house, and not far inside you'll reach a stair. Go up the stairs, and when you've gotten to the second floor, turn to the east. In the east wing, you'll find the Library, and the general whereabouts of most of our scholars and lorekeepers. As for the, ah, Northern Dunedain... No doubt they will welcome a reunion with their southern brothers. Seek out Aragorn, for he is Chief of them, and... Well, I leave to him what he will say. But you would do well to do him courtesy, for his is of noble lineage. But I delay! My lady wife awaits. I bid you all good day."

"Fare ye well, till another time, Silvarion." The youthful Isilrim tilts his brow once more in thanks for the directions given by the Quende, before glancing to Erutirn, "I shall join ye in a later hour, perhaps; let me peruse some books at this library ere that, for I did not see any other Men in the halls when I was wandering within, and perhaps our kin of the North are not so easily found."

Date added: 2009-02-27 09:59:07    Hits: 132
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